


Good Housekeeping

by Redrikki



Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: Gen, Homelessness, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 20:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19184695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redrikki/pseuds/Redrikki
Summary: It’s been months since his mum kicked him out, but at least Nathan hasn’t sunk to sleeping under the flyover. He's got a good thing going at the community center and means to keep it.





	Good Housekeeping

**Author's Note:**

> Written for hurt/comfort bingo prompt "loss of home/shelter."

Nathan hums to himself as a he sets out the chairs for the AA meeting. He’s not an alcoholic, but he’s not _not_ an alcoholic if there’s free pastries in the offering. The vending machine, that frigid bitch, hasn’t been putting out like she used to since they fixed her. It’s been harder in general, staying fed now that community service is over and he can’t just steal a bite of Simon’s sandwich or invite himself round to tea at Kelly’s. He helps himself to one of the cream-filleds once he’s finished setting up the urn and tea fixings, then snags a jelly to squirrel away for tomorrow’s breakfast. 

The drunks drift in in dribs and drabs. Nathan mumbles the serenity prayer along with the rest in between sips of tea. He’d rather a beer, but best not under the circumstances. His mind drifts as he listens to the drunks whinge on about their bullshit problems. Trouble at work. Trouble at home. Blah blah whatever. 

He perks up a bit when one mentions having been a homeless. It would be nice to get some tips on getting un-homeless, but it’s useless. Turns out the bloke had been one of those under-the-bridge types and only got his shit together after a stint in prison. Nathan’d like to avoid that, thank you very much. 

It’s been months since his mum kicked him out, but at least he hasn’t sunk to sleeping under the flyover. He’s got a roof over his head, hasn’t he? Not a roof he can’t bring a girl home to shag under, mind, but a roof none the less. Plus, there’s heat and working toilets and shit. It’s not ideal, but things could be a whole lot worse. 

Tidying up after the meeting, he finds a half-eaten donut left on someone’s chair. It’s probably crawling with germs, but whatever. He’s hungry and immortal. What’s the worst that could happen?

 

Another day, another meeting. Nathan sets out the chairs. They really aught to be paying him for all the work he does round here. It’s not even noon yet and he’s already unstuck a toilet and mopped up where one of the little shits in the crèche pissed all over the floor. 

Back when he still lived with his mum, he’d had no idea just how much went on at the community center, but there’s always something doing here. Today’s meeting is a support group for homeless youth. They’re all runaways, queers, and teenage prostitutes. He’d tried his hand at that line of work, but it turns having gotten a blowjob isn’t really sufficient training for giving one. Cheap bastard had refused to pay, like it was Nathan’s fault he’d thrown up in his lap. Fuck him anyway. Or not, as the case may be. Why weren’t there more ladies buying boy prostitutes? He’d be aces at that.

The social worker who’s running the thing lays out a couple of pizzas and everyone falls on them like a pack of starving wolves. A tart with eye make-up like a panda shots him a nasty look when he helps himself to a couple of slices and he glares right back. He’s got just as much right to them as anyone what with him being a homeless youth and all. 

They settle down with their pizzas and the social worker asks how they’re coping, now that the weather’s turned cold. Nathan’s got this puffy down coat he found in the donation bin. It’s too big and fuck ugly for him to actually wear out of doors without looking like a total cunt, but spread out over his mattress, it’s not a half bad duvet. 

One of the boys brags about sleeping in hospital waiting rooms like he’s a fucking genius for figuring out people won’t bother you if you look like you belong there. It’s Nathan’s entire m.o. right there and it’s been working pretty well, thank you very much. The social worker suggests a homeless shelter, but like hell he’s moving there. 

After they’ve gone, he throws out the rubbish and lines up the chairs for the geriatric fitness class. He overhears one of the old bitties talking about how nice it is to see young people volunteering as he drags out the box of weights from the storeroom. Volunteering. Now there’s a laugh. The way he figures, he’s just paying his rent.


End file.
